Easy, Action
by fir8008
Summary: The gang might be okay with Ice digging Anybodys, and Anybodys being pregnant. But would the gang be okay with you and Action doing it? You doubt it. A-Rab/Action slash two-shot. Some smut. Please R&R!
1. I Hate Myself for Loving You

**This was just a thing I thought of. Who knows where it came from. Some smut stuff so proceed with caution. You has been warned.**

_You are pressed up against the hard brick wall, nearly melting into it. You are madly in love, no, in lust, with the person between your legs. _

"_God," you moan throatily. "Jesus, easy, Action…"_

_In retaliation of being told to go slower, he just sucks harder making you scream and come. _

"ACTION!"

_Even in the dimly lit alleyway, you can see and feel his throat muscles swallow. You want to melt into his touch. He jerks up your jeans and you fumble to close them. He kisses you roughly, mashing your lips together and shoving his tongue between your teeth. In a pause for breath, you make the mistake of moaning: "I love you."_

_He pulls back suddenly and smacks you. "No." he says angrily. "This is not love. This is a game. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes," you say. "Can you kiss me again?"_

"_No." he says tightly and walks away._

_The gang might be okay with Ice digging Anybodys; and Anybodys having Ice's bun in her oven. The gang might even be okay that Baby John dating that Italian harpy Azzura and Big Deal is dating Sara, a fourteen year old girl. But would the gang be okay with you and Action _doing it_? _

_You doubt it._

* * *

A-Rab blinked at the not-so-recent memory. Action hadn't talked to him very much since that night. A-Rab wondered if he was in love with the wrong person. He wondered if Ice or Baby John or Big Deal ever thought they were in love with the wrong person.

He decided to ask.

"Hey Ice," A-Rab said casually. "You ever think Anybodys ain't the broad for you?"

The leader of the Jets shook his head. "Nope. Why? You tryin' to set up me and Velma again?"

"Naw, just wonderin'." A-Rab replies.

"Hey, Big Deal, you ever think you shouldn't be dating a fourteen year old kid?" A-Rab asks.

The tall, lanky nineteen year old Jet gives A-Rab a look. "Nope. Why? You aiming to pick up someone who's twelve?"

"No, just curious."

"Hey buddy boy, you ever think you shouldn't be dating that harpy and dig a nice American… OWW!" A-Rab rubbed the back of his leg where Azzura had given him a swift kick. "Speak a' the devil and she appears."

"It's 'Speak of the devil and he doth appear,' _Americano_." Azzura said loftily before floating back to the candy counter.

"No, I'm happy with her. Why? Feeling unfulfilled?" the newly seventeen year old baby of the Jets smiled at his best friend.

"Nope, just tryin' to figure out why you put up with the bride of the devil." A-Rab replied.

"She ain't that bad, A-Rab. She just don't like you that much." Baby John shrugged.

A-Rab rolled his eyes. "That ain't much of a difference, buddy boy."

A few hours later the gang started trickling out of Doc's. Action walked over to A-Rab and whispered: "Come over to my house."

He nodded.

* * *

You've come to hate that mattress.

You've come to hate Action taking you home.

There are nights, like this one, that will most likely end up with sex. But there are some nights where you just lie there together while he talks in his sleep. It's the price to pay for wanting to be close to him, you think.

He shoves you onto the mattress and yanks your shirt off. You fumble with your pants as he rakes his teeth against your neck, leaving marks. You kick off your jeans and he tears off his own clothes. He pulls you into a kiss and presses your bodies flush against each other. You make appreciative noises for his sake as his hands wander up and down your body.

He flicks his wrist and your underpants flutter around your ankles. He pulls himself out and spits into his hand before lubing up. You breathing quickens and you can't help but hate this part. You hate the anticipation of his length in you, and the pleasure you'll feel when he comes inside of you. You hate the fact these little things can make you submissive.

But Action has always been dominant. In fights, in dancing, in sex; in everything his does.

And you're just so desperate for feeling something you'll submit to him so easily.

He grabs you by the hips and shoves in. You don't even need to be prepped anymore, your body just opens up to him like he's a piece you've been missing. He pushes in and out making you hoarse from all the screaming you're doing, until you can hear him make a scream of his own, and the hot rush inside of you. You follow him over the edge, making your stomachs sticky with your essence.

He holds you tightly and kisses you roughly. You kiss back trying to ignore the guilt and sorrow in your gut. Then, he lays back and falls asleep. You remain awake and stare at the ceiling. You rest your chin against his dark hair and murmur: "I love you."

**Please review and tell me what you think!**


	2. Heat of the Moment

**I decided to write a second chapter! I hope you enjoy! This one's from Action's POV.**

If there's one thing Action hates, it's A-Rab and how that stupid blonde idiot makes him feel. He hates it when A-Rab submits to him and lets Action take out his frustrations on A-Rab's body. He hates it when A-Rab's fingers curl in his hair. He hates it when A-Rab kisses him gently. He hates it the most when A-Rab tells Action he loves him.

Action doesn't understand A-Rab. He doesn't understand this foreign language of love; to him it's more foreign than Spanish or whatever those dumb PRs speak. He doesn't understand how A-Rab doesn't understand what goes on between is a game. It's fake. It doesn't exist. Action knows A-Rab sees what the Jets under Riff and even under Tony used to do to those faggots hanging around Central Park. A-Rab can't possibly be that stupid. Maybe he is. Maybe all those head wounds in rumbles finally got to his tiny brain.

Action knows he isn't a faggot. He isn't one of those swishy sons-of-bitches that still lollygag around Central Park practically begging to get picked up by the cops. Didn't those idiots know anything?

If the gang ever found out what they had been doing the only thing Action could expect was death.

* * *

You have A-Rab pressed up against a brick wall. His pants and underwear are around his ankles. You're on your knees sucking him off. He's moaning and groaning and you hear him say, "Jesus, easy, Action."

No one tells you to go easy. So you just suck harder until he comes. You swallow the acrid stuff and jump to your feet; yanking up his jeans. He fumbles to shut them as you smash your lips against his and shove your tongue into his mouth. When he pulls away to breathe he says those three words.

You smack him angrily. How many times do you have to tell this retarded Polack not to say that? Hasn't A-Rab figured out that he is a game, a toy, a fuck buddy? You demand if he understands you. He says he does and then asks you to kiss him again. You refuse and storm away.

Why hasn't he figured out he's no different from those dumb broads you used to screw around with? Once they got clingy just toss them in the trash and move onto the next one.

* * *

In the end Action can't stay away for long. He asks A-Rab to come to his house.

A-Rab never says no.

* * *

You drag him inside and shove him down onto your mattress. Both of you start tearing clothes off. Once you're bare you start touching him everywhere. A-Rab is an addiction: stronger than booze, dames, and cigarettes rolled into one. You rake your teeth against his neck, marking him as your own. You yank off his underpants and spit into your hand. As usual, you hear his breath hitch. A-Rab is quaking in anticipation, like always. It's a small comfort to see he's still the same.

You shove into him easily. In the beginning, A-Rab used to hiss and squeak like a girl. You would have to pull out and prep him. But sex has become so routine he just opens up to you. You like that. Deep inside, some sick, sadistic part of you loves that. As you shove in and out, he screams so loud you at first wonder why the neighbors haven't complained yet. Then again, they make their own noise so who the fuck would they be to complain?

Finally you burst, spilling inside of him. Moments later A-Rab follows you over the edge, splattering all over your stomachs. You grab him by the hair and smash your lips together. He kisses back. Eventually you lie back and doze off.

Maybe you do understand A-Rab's language of love. You yourself admit to thoughts of running away. But where to? Every so often you'll pick up a newspaper and read revolutionary things are starting to happen concerning gays. You aren't gay but if you're fucking a boy I guess it puts in contention to be gay.

You cuddle closer to A-Rab and mutter, "run away with me," in your sleep.

**Reviews are love!**


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